You Don't Belong Here

March 18, 2018:

Captain America discovers Deadpool in the Triskelion.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Coulson


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

There's something odd in the center of the track used by many agents to get in their jogging and various cario exercise. The comments about this odd thing come through from a few agents, dressed in their athletic attire, as they chat, headed to the locker rooms. There is an armed weirdo in there in costume. But it seems nobody has actually approached him or done anything about it: since he's in there, he must belong, or have permission?

Confidence is half the battle, really. And the odd character standing in full view in the middle of the track is entirely confident: though at the moment he is bent over his phone, swiping. The other hand holds one of the cups from the cafeteria: evidently he was in there, too. From just a glance, he generally reads as one of any number of muscular 'spider' style heroes. A closer look will take in the array of excessive weaponry on the tactical outfit.

Less spidey, more stabbystabby pewpew.


It doesn't take long before someone takes notice. While there might be SHIELD agents that are making the report, making sure that everything checks out, and perhaps readying weapons if this intruder is unwanted, there is one that doesn't wait that long for such things.

Not taking the time to garb up the star and stripes of his uniform, Steve Rogers makes his way in clad in his own training attire, a simple white t-shirt and gray sweat pants. His toes move slightly the special running shoes that were gifted to him, onces that have the toes in them like some sort of footglove. He clearly isn't a fan, becuase whether walking or standing still, his little piggies move from time to time. To complete this odd fashion statement, the trademark shield rests in Steve's hand. While his demeanor is causal, the fact that he has his best defense and weapon at the ready suggests he is taking this seriously.

A brow quirks to see the masked man, a simple question given to start the conversation. "Who are you?"


"Just a second," the masked intruder says, distracted, not even actually turning at all towards the question. "You get in there— come to daddy or I will beat you in the— well, you might like that, so—…. YES," A pump of phone. Success. "Finally, you electric rat asshat," he says, talking to himself, or more closely, the phone. And then swings attention to Steve.

"I wasn't listening. What was the question? Something along the line of what am I doing here, or have I finished with the weight racks already, would I please use a /towel/, or—-?" Wait. That is Captain America. Things adjust rapidly.

And the stranger pauses to set down the drink on the floor by his feet. Creates a free hand, to use to smartly salute, spinning to fully face Steve. "Captain."


Unaware of the danger of certain wording, Cap continues to keep his brow arched as he takes in the salute. "At ease," he replies warily.

The self-talk is ignored as Steve attempts to get a general vibe of the person. There is something off about this soul, he can tell that much despite not being a telepath or have any similar gifting.

"I don't believe you're a SHIELD operative or ally… If you are, I hope you have some sort of documentation to prove it." A glance is given toward the area before looking back toward Deadpool. "Just have to check on this things from time to time considering the work SHIELD finds itself involved with."


At ease? Yes, that evokes immediate 'ease'. And a bit of overly friendly attitude, which means Wade will come right over, but there's no obvious aggression. Maybe just a lack of personal space awareness.

The shield is really interesting. And will divert most of the odd masked stranger's attention suddenly. The tone is entirely cheerful, interested, upbeat. "That is /the/ famous shield, no less. My bucket list includes either touching it or having my face smashed in by it. Can we go with the first option?" Wade switches apps in his phone quickly, out of the game he'd been playing. He doesn't actually touch, but he does make a 'grabby hand' squeezey motion of fingers at the shield.

"Proof he says. PROOF. Yep, I have that. I don't think I have my own parking spot, though. Which is just a travesty, and I'm very upset."


There is a slight draw back of one foot. To most, it would seem causal, but to Wade, an experienced fighter, it would likely register that Steve is sliding into a martial stance. Despite this, however, Cap remains largely relaxed himself. A small frown slides at the unhealthy bucket list of the merc with a mouth. "You provide the proof, then I'll let you touch the shield. Touch, not hold," he offers softly.


If Wade sees the foot move, he doesn't let on. He's busy. With a long-suffering, overly loud sigh, Wade trades his phone to his other hand, opens a front tactical pocket, slips the phone away, and with two other fingers is extracting the access card from the same pocket. It's a liquid smooth little move that matches his appearance far more than his demeanor. He's quick. He flips it out and shows it as if he were an FBI agent. "Boop," Wade says, in a high voice.

It IS a real SHIELD access card. With an image of a cookie on it, as well. It is absolutely the most minimal access there is, the striping signifies. This card has access to the most 'childproofed' areas only. So, while it is a real card, it also says his leash is very very short.

"My access includes anywhere I am 'supposed to be', which normally I would have expected to be a little bit more clear: there is some liberal room to interpret that," Wade prattles in his chatty way. "I don't know how this proves I didn't steal it. Do you have a slot I can insert this into? Maybe that will show a picture of me? If so, I want to see what the picture is, because I probably blinked. I'm normally extremely fucking photogenic."


Eyes scan the card. The level of access, the nature of it, is stuff Cap's seen before. "I see" is all Rogers offers at first, taking in a breath and giving a slow exhale at the cursing. While Steve is one to correct his friends, this Wade Wilson seems to be a different breed altogether. "No, it's fine."

Of course, Captain America is a man of his word as he slowly raises the shield up. He doesn't let Wilson hold it or wield it, but it's clear that Steve is letting the 'shield touching' commence. "Well, I'm glad to have you working with SHIELD and helping out, Mister-" Cap pauses at the name, as if just saying it was somehow morally degrading. "-Deadpool."


Deadpool puts the card away. While talking. Of course. "Just Deadpool. That would be like saying Mister Captain. Awkward for everyone. So I was wondering. How do you practice with it? Do you throw it, and then walk over and pick it up, and toss again? That seems like the saddest, loneliest frisbee I've ever heard of. Or do you throw it at someone else, and they're supposed to hurl it back? Were they ever dismembered by it? Because, I volunteer. Well, for a few minutes, I'm very busy —y'know, hush hush secret agent stuff. But I /have/ thrown knives, and saw blades, and swords, and chairs, and kitcen sinks, and other things in my time."

He does reach out and bonk a knuckle against the surface, as if just to test what it's made of. If Steve predicted Wade would try to grab it, that doesn't happen. Well, yet. The close proximity and the previous show of how quick Wade is probably wouldn't make anybody overly comfortable.


The shield gives a unique ring to it that sounds like warping sound and thunder. The deep bass is oddly comforting as the energy flawlessly dissipates across the unique alloy. Cap holds up the tool in question, clearly proud of it.

"Just practice. A lot of what I did was through a lot of practice. Part of my training during World War II was to be the best, so that meant training in hand to hand, use of firearms-" Odd for Cap to say considering he doesn't have a gun on him "-And the shield. After all the practice, throwing it just comes nature. There are parts of the shield that can cut and parts that can't-" Cap explains. "A lot of it dependant on the angle and how hard it's thrown. Takes a bit of time to get the hang of it, but since I have, I can't imagine messing up a toss of the shield when I need it the most."

There is a brief pause as Cap considers the words of Wade about thrown weapons. "I'm sure you're very skilled, Deadpool," he concedes.


Wade can /talk/, but has a harder time sitting through another person giving a long explanation, very obviously. There's some attention problems, he's fiddling around through almost all of it, with a 'Mmmhmm' and 'Yeah, of course' a few times inserted. And some varying different physical stances, one arm up to rest hand on cheek, then back the other way, weight on different legs….

"Okay, face-smashy time? Because I can't remember if that bucket list was 'or' or 'and', SO it's better to be thorough." It's possibly really impossible to tell about how serious that question actually was. No doubt Deadpool is joking, right?

"But I MAYBE can understand if you don't want blood all over it. It's so /shiny/ right now. All that shining - explains the big arms. Mine are from other activities." Yes, a lude gesture is added to that.


As Deadpool switches from stance to stance like a hyperactive child, Steve slows down faintly in his talking, but is composed enough to finish his words.

"Not sure that I'd be up for just hitting you," Steve replies with a slightly cooled tone. After all, it's not like Steve to hurt anyone for the sake of it, even if they are LITERALLY asking for it. And the lewd gesture does little to endear Deadpool to the old fashioned Star-Spangled Man. "If you wish to spar, I suppose we could do that. After all, as I said before, part of keeping myself ready to fight the good fight is constant training… Sure you feel the same way," Rogers points out before he makes his way out of the room and starts to stride toward one of the larger training rooms.




"Spar time spar time, blood blood guts guts," celebrates Deadpool, in what can only be described as a bouncy prance behind Captain America towards the sparring rooms, drawing a katana in a silent little pull off his back with just two fingers. Nice nicey as that. He doesn't stab or anything, but a glance back will get an eyeful of masterfully spinning sword with a few fingers. And a liberal dose of crazyperson, who is now humming 'eye of the tiger'. "My very own Captain America training montage. This will need selfies."

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